


The roof of thy mouth like the best wine

by belmanoir



Category: Canadian Actor RPF, Fandom RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Mary Sue your friends meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs_laugh_track is the decadent ruler of an intergalactic empire. Her one weakness is her lowborn concubine, Nicholas Lea--a weakness that may someday be her downfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The roof of thy mouth like the best wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrs_laugh_track](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_laugh_track/gifts).



> **Additional warnings: consent issues, references to domestic violence, slavery, colonialism**
> 
> Thank you to kanzenhanzai for naming the cybernetic python.

Sonia loves her Empire, of course. Well, it might be more apt to say she loves being Empress. But there are certain imperial duties she doesn't care for at all. There's a lot of appeasing the locals, for example. It's necessary, but by the third day of the Rigellian winemaking festival she's hiding her yawns behind one languid, be-ringed hand.

Then she sees him.

He's knee-deep in a tub of grapes, and just as he catches her eye, he laughs at something his partner said. He laughs as if he's never felt anything but joy, as if he _is_ joy. He throws his head back and the sunlight slides down his body like water, over his open mouth and tanned throat and strong, freckled shoulders. Over his grape-spattered chest. A loincloth covers his hips, to her regret, but only his hips, and his thighs are--

Her first thought, strangely, is that she ought to have him sculpted for posterity. 

Her second thought is that she's going to fuck him. There are perks to being Empress, after all. She sets down her goblet of last year's vintage and unfolds herself from her place on the settee. "Who is that?" she asks the Viceroy.

He follows her pointing finger. "Oh, you mean Nick. Nicholas Lea. A nice enough young man. A zoological gardener." He glances between the two of them and smiles knowingly. "He's very popular with the local girls, I believe." As he says it, Nick throws a grape in the air and catches it in his mouth, grinning at his partner. The girl does, indeed, look dazzled.

Sonia's lips curve as she stands. "Not for long."

When she descends from the dais and beckons him to her, he's so surprised he loses his footing and barely catches himself on the rim of the tub. But he recovers quickly and hops out of the tub, revealing strong, purpled calves and bare feet. "What can I do for you?" he asks, lowering his voice suggestively, then ducks his head with a giggle at his own daring. It's quite unbearably charming. All that innocence, only waiting to be sullied.

"Quite a lot, I'm hoping." She takes his hand and leads him behind a convenient shed. He tries to kiss her, but she pushes him to his knees and lifts her skirt. He glances up at her, a funny little frown that's half startlement and half amusement, and then he gets his hands on her and goes to work with a will. His tongue is--not so innocent, after all.

Afterwards, she lets him kiss her. He tastes like wine and sunlight and her own juices. He's visibly hard under his loincloth. She ignores it. "How would you like to be my Imperial Zoological Gardener?" she asks. 

He frowns again, this time looking genuinely taken aback. "Well, I--"

"That was a rhetorical question," she informs him gently but firmly. Later, when she's undressing, she shivers at the purple handprints on her hips and the curve of her ass.

###

"Imperial Zoological Gardener" remains his official title. She even lets him spend time in her Zoological Gardens. It keeps him content, and there's no harm in it. Besides, she likes the way his eyes crinkle happily when he babytalks to Robert, her cybernetic python. But everyone knows he's her concubine.

He chafes against it, sometimes. He hates, especially, being shown off to her fellow heads of state at parties. Sonia doesn't much care. Nothing impresses visiting dignitaries like drop-dead gorgeous human chattel. Nick's visibly impotent resentment only adds to the effect.

She's counting on that, tonight. A Triumvir of the Triangulum Galaxy is dining with her, and he hasn't been showing her proper respect. The Triangulum Galaxy is a minor threat, but she hasn't gotten to where she is by ignoring threats, no matter how minor. 

But the Triumvir is expected in a quarter of an hour, and Nick hasn't made his appearance. She considers having him brought in in chains, but that isn't quite the effect she was hoping for. Sighing, she hastens to his chambers. He's lounging in an enormous cushion, eating Orion space-chocolate, watching an old black-and-white hologram, and pouting.

"Nick," she says, an edge in her voice. "Get ready for dinner."

He glances up at her, so briefly she knows the insolence is intentional. "I'm not going to dinner. You know I hate those things."

"Nick," she says, falsely pleasant. "I don't care how you feel about them. Now get dressed in the clothes I had laid out for you, or I'll have you whipped until you can't stand and then I'll dress you in them myself."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "They'd get bloody."

"Don't try me. I'm not in the mood."

He comes abruptly to his feet and puts his hands on his hips. "You're never in the mood," he says, glaring furiously. "What am I to you? A doll you can dress up and show off to your friends? I'm a person, damn you!" His eyes glitter, and she doesn't want to go to the dinner either. She wants to stay here and teach him exactly who's boss--as if he doesn't already know, which he does. These displays of independence are just that, displays. He'll give in any moment now, and they both know it. 

She steps in and puts her hand on his cheek. "No one is as close to me as you are," she says soothingly. "You know that."

He turns his head away, his eyes fluttering closed, and she brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. "Yeah." He sounds defeated. "No one's close to you at all."

She draws her hand away and slaps him before he even realizes she's moved. "I run an Empire!" Her voice echoes in his empty rooms. "I won't apologize for being too busy to play house with you." His eyes blaze. She drags him to her and kisses him, fiercely. 

He opens his mouth under her assault with a groan. "Sonia," he murmurs brokenly, and she knows she's won. 

She pulls back, wiping his lipstick off her lips with the back of her hand. "I've given you everything, and all I ask in return in this one thing. Now fix your makeup and get ready."

His mouth purses in frustration. "It's always _one thing._ And then one more, and one more." But he's moving towards the bed, where his clothes are laid out. He strips with only one tight, angry glance at her, and belts the silver skirt around his waist. "Let me wear a shirt."

"Why?"

He grits his teeth. "I'm--you know I'm trying to lose weight."

It's true, he's put on weight since coming to the capital. She likes it. He's more solid, now. He's hers. "You're perfect. No shirt."

He fastens the silvered leather around his wrists with an angry snap, and jams the bobbed pink-and-silver wig on his head. Then he moves to the mirror to kohl his eyes and paint his lips deep pink to match the wig and the Alpha-Centauri rubies on his bracelets. She watches avidly. He knows it, and swallows when their eyes meet in the mirror. He lowers his, blushing, to attach the false silver eyelashes. She catches her breath when they sweep down over his perfect cheekbones, garish and lovely.

"Bitch," he mutters as he slides the ruby earring into his ear.

"I should cut out your tongue for that." The words come out husky and uneven. 

He gives her a mirthless grin in the mirror. "You won't. You like what it can do too much." Any moment now she's going to tell the Triangulum Triumvir to go to hell and take Nick to bed right now. And it's better to wait. Because Nick likes this too, likes the petty humiliations and the sharp bite of tension and anger between them. She'll listen to him breathing all through dinner as he stands stiff and straight behind her chair, and afterwards, when the Triumvir is gone, they'll fall on each other like ravenous beasts. He'll fuck her right there on the table, the remains of the state dinner strewn around them. He'll be hard already, he'll have been hard for hours, and when she digs her fingernails into his arms he'll bare his teeth and growl.

"I do love you, you know," she tells him.

"What difference does that make?" he asks, and flounces past her out the door. She's been all over the galaxy, and his freckled back is still the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

###

"Ungrateful sons of whores!" she screams, and overturns the Great Table. The loud crash doesn't satisfy her. She picks up a fallen silver punch bowl and throws it across the room. "Fuckers!"

The doors open and Nick stumbles in as if he's been tossed in by the guards, which he probably has. He's the only person who can talk to her when she's like this. He regains his footing and eyes her warily. She's been known to hurt him when she's in one of her rages, and not in the way that makes him cry out and beg for more. "Sonia?"

His tentative tone only makes her angrier. "Fuck off!" She throws a knife at him. Three feet wide at least, but he still ducks, his hands coming up to hide his face. "Cowardly piece of shit!" 

He straightens. He knows how to deal with her, even if it doesn't come naturally. He swallows, throws his shoulders back a little. She can see him drawing the role around him like a cloak. She's already a little calmer, the visions of her empire crumbling into a dust a little more distant. He strides towards her. She doesn't give an inch, and he puts his hands on her shoulders and bears her back, back, back until her back hits the cold marble of a pillar. He's strong. It's only her power and the affection between them that holds him in check, that's ever held him in check. He pins her against the pillar as she shouts at him. He flinches a little at the sound, but he leans in and stares into her eyes. "Shut up."

She spits in his face. He puts a hand at her throat and squeezes, just a little. Not enough to block off her air, but enough that she doesn't quite dare try to break away while he puts up his other hand and wipe the spit off his cheek.

"I hate you," she throws at him. "I have given my life to this Empire and it's not enough. It's never enough!" He slides his leg between hers, pressing her more tightly against the pillar. She gulps. She could come just like this, rubbing herself against his thigh. He'd let her. "There's been a slave revolt in Gemini."

"I know."

"Are they stupid?"

He shrugs, his hand sliding around her neck to untie the straps of her dress. The fabric falls down, exposing her breasts. She watches him cup them in his hands, the reverence in the movement bringing a lump to her raw throat. "You have the most beautiful breasts in the universe," he tells her in a low, rough voice, and as always he makes a simple piece of flattery sound like the truth.

"I don't want tenderness right now," she snaps, her voice cracking on the words.

His mouth twists. "You never do." He huffs a sigh and presses closer, burying his face in the curve of her neck. For long moments he stays there, his breath hot on her skin. She itches, everywhere. 

The rage isn't gone, only waiting. "I may be an empress," she tells him, "but I'm also a woman." She doesn't know, herself, quite what she means by it. And yet it's true, and it seems important that he understand it. It seems important that he understand.

"I know. I know," he says, and to her relief he pulls himself together before the pressure becomes unbearable. "Turn around," he whispers in her ear. She doesn't move. _"Turn around."_ There's menace in it this time. He turns her roughly, by her shoulders, and shoves up her short skirt. She pushes down her underpants herself, impatient, and then he's driving into her. Each thrust pushes her face and breasts into the marble. She scrabbles for purchase, getting her hands flat on the column, and shoves back. "You're mine," he says, and bites her ear. His thrusts are precise and controlled, and his voice is steady and sharp. He snaps his hips and she gasps. 

"Harder," she orders him, and he obeys, fucking her hard and fast, panting and groaning in her ear. His strong arms hem her in, blocking everything out. As he begins to lose control, his hands slipping on the sides of the pillar, he bites her shoulder. Not hard enough to leave a mark--she's never been sure why he does it. To muffle his cries? To ground himself? To claim her? To keep himself from saying something he'd regret? He's mumbling incomprehensibly into her skin, now.

He stiffens and jerks and spends himself inside her. Before he's even done shaking, he's pulling out, sliding to his knees and turning her around, helping her finish with his lips and tongue. It doesn't take long.

Afterwards, when he kisses her, he tastes like wine and her own juices. He doesn't taste like sunlight anymore. He hasn't for a long time. 

###

He comes to dinner wearing nothing but the gold snake earring she gave him. It's not unheard-of in the Empire, especially the capital, but he's never done it before. It's their anniversary. She thinks that's all it is, a gift. Later she realizes it's to distract her from the strange taste of the wine.

"But...why...?" she gets out through stiff lips.

He ties on his robe and crawls across the low table to haul her onto his lap. "I'm sorry," he says, so low she almost can't hear him. "I'm so sorry."

"Nick?" She feels bewildered and near tears. It must be the poison, weakening her.

His face is a mask of sorrow. "I wanted it to be so different between us. I thought sometimes that it could be, but--"

"What--?"

"I--" He swallows. "I love you."

"What difference does that make?" she asks bitterly.

He bows his head, his arms tightening around her. She's warm. Almost, she feels comforted. "I'm sorry." He looks so sad. With a great effort, she puts up her hand to cup his cheek. He presses into the touch, his mouth trembling. 

She smiles at him. "Should have...cut out...your tongue..."

The last thing she feels is the hot splash of his tears against her skin.

###

_Funerary eulogy to the Intergalactic Empress Sonia, delivered by the elected Spokesman of the newly-formed Intergalactic Republic, Nicholas Lea, in front of the Great Mausoleum he built for her:_

"There are many besides me who can speak to the Empress's rapacity, her cruelty and her ruthlessness. But she molded us with her bare hands out of the rough-hewn rock. She molded me. I hope that together we can learn to be something other than what she made us, that we can build a lasting democracy and a lasting peace for ourselves and our children. Nevertheless, she was a great woman, and I am proud, very proud, to have known her. I--" 

_The Spokesman then knelt and kissed the stone that covered the Empress Sonia's frozen remains. The conclusion of his speech was indistinguishable._


End file.
